


stuck on believing

by zaeedmassanis (theworldabouttodawn)



Category: Mass Effect - All Media Types
Genre: 5+1 Things, Destroy Ending, Earthborn (Mass Effect), F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 20:39:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15421152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theworldabouttodawn/pseuds/zaeedmassanis
Summary: growing up on the streets of flooded new york, she never dreamed that she could ever have this.or: five times aina shepard told garrus vakarian she loved him, and one time he told her.





	stuck on believing

**Author's Note:**

> what’s up this is my first mass effect fic!! in love with these two and also i miss aina so much omg anyways this is. pretty basic run-of-the-mill for shakarian fic soz lmao 
> 
> also like. ik this is Pretty Obviously about my own shep but i don't mention her first name just fyi
> 
> title from "easy way" by for the foxes!

Now is no time for a proper reunion. Not when the last thing she remembers is still the cold, dark eye of Alchera glimmering in the distance as dark spots cloud her vision, not when she’s got two Cerberus operatives at her back (and wouldn’t she rather have Garrus there instead, like old times) and glimmering red scars crisscrossing her skin. But nothing has ever been easy for her, so she supposes she can take it in stride. 

That being said, she’s still loath to leave Garrus’ side, and she leaves Jacob with him to try to ease her mind. “I know you can take care of yourself,” she says lowly when he protests, “but just – let me have this? I can’t lose you.”

And he, bless him, still gets it after the two years she’s told she’s been dead. “Understood, Shepard,” he says crisply.

Before she can say anything else (and what is there to say, what can she possibly put into words), the first mercs come into view and she’s got other things on her mind for the time being.

If she can forget about Lawson and Taylor, it could almost be normal – Garrus above her, covering her back and yelling in her ear, the two of them hopelessly outnumbered but still doing their damnedest to stick it through. And the biotic glow from both the Cerberus operatives doesn’t hurt either – if she squints, it’s almost like Liara’s back with them again. Almost like nothing has changed.

She doesn’t have time to _think_ about what’s changed, anyways, even in the breathers between waves when she can rush up to go check on Garrus (and it’s just – she needs him alive, of course, it’s definitely not that he’s the only grounding presence she has in this fuckup of a galaxy.) 

They do all right, the four of them, the mercs barely able to take down their shields, let alone actually hit them. Shepard begins to believe that they might get out of here soon enough, and none the worse for wear. It’s probably the most hope she’s felt since she woke up in that lab with alarms blaring all around her.

But then she hears the gunship. It fires a barrage of shots on the upper floor of the building that, themselves, don’t seem to do much damage, but just when she thinks Garrus and Jacob are home free and she can go take out the gunship, she hears one more blast.

A gasp.

A gurgle.

“Garrus!” she screams. The deafening silence – even with the gunshots and biotic flares and the screaming – tells her all that she needs to know.

Suddenly full of rage, she storms up the stairs of the building and zeroes in on the gunship that took Garrus out. (She can’t look at the huddled lump near the couch, the spreading pool of dark, viscous blue blood, the smoking armour plate – not without breaking down herself, and she can’t have that. Not now of all times.)

And she unloads everything she’s got into that damned gunship, even if all that comes to is a submachine gun and a grenade launcher. But it does the job well enough, coupled with a few plasma rounds, and soon the gunship falls in a smouldering ruin.

And none too soon, either, as _Garrus still isn’t moving_. Shepard dashes over there as soon as she can, not even sparing a glance for the wreckage of the gunship and trusting the Cerberus operatives (and my, isn’t _that_ a thought) to take out the rest of the stragglers.

She chokes out his name, a prayer or a sob (she doesn’t know) when he breathes. But the gurgle is there, the sound of blood that she knows will put him in even more danger if they can’t get him out of here fast enough. But she can’t let him know that. “We’re getting you out of here, Garrus. Just hold on. Radio Joker,” she orders, struggling to hold her voice steady. “Make sure they’re ready for us.”

Taylor says something, probably, but she can’t hear him, blood pounding in her ears as she tries to do something – anything – to stem the blood. “You’ve gotta pull through this, okay?” she says. “You and me, we’re in this together. No Shepard without Vakarian, come _on!_ ” But he’s not responding, mouth _maybe_ working to try to form words (or maybe he’s just trying to cough the blood up, not that it would do much good and – Shepard, stop thinking like that, it doesn’t do anything for anyone involved–)

And Lawson says that it’s still going to be some time before Karin can get a medical team down in here, and – well, Shepard’s out of options. She needs to keep Garrus alive, needs him awake, needs – him.

“Garrus, goddamnit, you’re tougher than this, you can get through this, stay alive, I love you–” and she doesn’t even register half the words that come out through her senseless babble. All she knows is that he can’t die on her, not now, not like this, not _ever_.

* * *

“I want something to go right,” Garrus says, and Shepard wants to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. After all this time, how could he still not see what she saw so clearly, how well they already fit together and how they couldn’t hurt each other even if they tried? 

But the pain in his eyes is so clear, so _open_ , and – when did she get so good at reading him, when only a year ago (three years, her brain whispers) she would have been at a complete loss? And she can’t bear it, can’t stand to see him doubt, so she reaches up to touch his face, hoping that he might be able to read her the same way.

(It’s not an entirely unselfish gesture. She’s been dreaming about what his plates would feel like under her fingertips for what feels like _ages_.)

He leans into her touch, meeting her eyes, and – yes, he understands her perfectly. As he did at the beginning, as she thought they had lost with Sidonis, as they’ve found again. As they _are_ found, in each other.

And her world narrows down to points of sensation, words falling out of her mouth and plates on her skin and _Garrus_ , clear blue eyes boring right into her soul. They don’t fit together perfectly, but she wasn’t expecting them to. It’s enough for her to know that he wants her just as badly as she wants him, that he’s willing to _try_ , that they can find some refuge in each other.

Garrus is a quick study, she finds to her delight, and her own curiosity helps break down any remaining barriers they may have between them. She’s fascinated by his body, by the dull shine of his plates and the way they interlock. And by the way he can’t stop touching her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, he feels the same.

When he slides into her, he tries to be gentle at first. And Shepard thinks it’s flattering, she really does, but – she’s not made of glass, and Garrus knows that. So she tells him as much.

“Are you sure, Shepard?” he says, mandibles fluttering. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” she responds. “I know you won’t.” _This might be all we get_ , she doesn’t say. _I want whatever you can give me._

So he takes a deep breath and starts again, a relentless force that she can barely brace herself against. Her mouth closes in around the spot where neck meets cowl, where his skin gives just enough that her teeth can find purchase. She holds on as hard as she can, helpless against the rising tide, feeling him in every atom of her being.

“I think I love you,” she gasps into his hide, biting down as hard as she can. He’s too far gone to hear her say it, at least, but – would that be so bad, if he knew?

He spills into her, and all thought is driven out of her head.

* * *

They’re standing at the very top of the Presidium, and Shepard hears it’s supposed to be a good view –it’s definitely better than anything she saw growing up on flooded, overcrowded Earth at any rate – but her mind is still more on the man in front of her.

And he’s everything she’s ever wanted, and she’s not sure where she went wrong, to make him feel like she didn’t want to leap back into his arms the moment she saw him on Menae, but – this is a chance for her to fix that now, and by _god_ she’s going to do it.

“Are you ready to be a one-turian kind of woman?” he asks, and Shepard could laugh with how quintessentially _Garrus_ that is.

“The only thing that made leaving Earth bearable was knowing you were out there somewhere,” she starts, and that’s the God-given truth for whatever value of god is out there.

Before she can continue, he responds, “I felt the same way. The worst part about the galaxy going to hell would’ve been never getting to see you again,” and – Shepard has never felt so _cherished_ , so wanted as she does right now. Every neuron in her body is firing at high speed, and he’s not even _touching_ her yet.

But he’s looking at her like she hung every moon in every sky, and that – that’s enough. Maybe even _more_.

The decision is so, so easy to make. Barely a decision at all, if she’s being honest – it was never even a _question_. “Well, here I am. Exactly where I want to be. I love you, Garrus Vakarian,” she says, and it’s still the scariest thing she’s ever done. She’s never said it before, not to anyone, not where they could _hear_ her. No one had ever mattered as much, been as important, as this impossible, _infuriating_ man in front of her.

And suddenly she understands why Garrus was so nervous in her cabin, all those months ago. She wants for this to go right _so badly_ , wants to see what they can get up to without the constant threat of war hanging over their heads. She wants to go to sleep every night and wake up every morning for the rest of her life with him next to her.

He’s _startled_ , like he didn’t expect her to actually say it, like he didn’t think she’d actually be in love with him. “Wow. The vids Joker gave me – well, they never got this far,” he says, and this time, Shepard can’t stifle her laugh. But Garrus forges on anyways, mandibles twitching in nervousness. “There was the part about sleeping together, but this–”

Shepard doesn’t want to torment him any longer. Anyway, it’s been so long since he kissed her, and she’s beyond due for another. So she leans in and shuts him up.

Growing up on the streets of New York, she never could have _dreamed_ she’d get here one day, here on top of the Presidium with someone she loves, who she knows loves her. And maybe the galaxy is still falling to pieces around them, and she’s still the only one responsible for putting them back together, but this, here, is her happiness.

* * *

She’s still breathing heavily when the crowd finally disperses and they make their way back over to the bar. At a signal from Garrus, the bartender sets a copper mug in front of her – a welcome respite from all the krogan and batarian alcohol she’s been drinking lately. “How’d you know I like a good Moscow mule?” she asks, taking a long swig. 

Garrus shrugs. “You may have said something about it once,” he responds, taking a much smaller sip from his own glass.

“Mmm,” she hums, conceding the point. And they sit there in companionable silence for a few moments, just resting in the other’s company, and it’s – it’s nice, to slow down and to just. Have this.

Then a thought occurs to her, and she says, reaching for his hand, “And, Garrus? For the record, you were right about your voice.”

“Is that so?” he rumbles, amused. “This voice, huh?”

She laughs despite herself. “You could get any girl you wanted with that voice alone. But you’re not going to use it on anyone besides me.”

“I’m not,” he agrees.

Shepard feels lighter already. “So, what do you say to getting out of here?” she asks, draining the last of her drink.

He’s up before she is, offering her his arm as they walk out of the casino. With every step they take, it’s harder and harder for Shepard to (mostly) keep her hands to herself. Garrus cuts _such_ a fine figure in his suit (better than she could ever in a dress, probably) and Shepard isn’t a weak woman, exactly, but she’s weak for this, for _him_. Nevertheless, she tries to keep her cool.

The moment they step into the elevator up to her floor, however, all bets are off. As the doors hiss shut, Shepard reaches for Garrus, pulling him into a deep kiss that leaves them both panting. “What’s that all about?” he asks, feigning ignorance.

Shepard isn’t having any of it. “You know what you do to me, Vakarian.”

His mandibles flare outward in a smile. “Oh, I know what I’m _going_ to do to you tonight, that’s for sure.”

So they don’t exactly make it to a bed.

At least not for the first round.

By the time they’re finally done, however, they’re nestled together in her bed, up in her room, and Shepard doesn’t think she’s ever been happier, even if the universe is falling to pieces outside these four walls.

Now that she thinks about it, she’s probably been in love with Garrus since the moment she laid eyes on him. Not that she’d ever say that to his face, of course. His ego doesn’t need any more stroking. But here, in this rare moment of peace when she’s lying in his arms (and they don’t fit together perfectly but _god,_ it’s still like they were made for each other), she lets herself think it.

“Something on your mind?” Garrus rumbles, chest pressed close to her back.

“Mmm,” she hums noncommittally, snuggling backward and seeking more of his warmth. “You.”

“I should hope so,” he says, but he chuckles nonetheless. “Wouldn’t want you to be thinking about anything else right now.”

Shepard smiles, eyes slipping shut. _God_ , she loves him.

“I love you too, Shepard,” he murmurs into her neck, and – oh, she had said that out loud. And it still feels so new, to just _say_ things like that, to open up instead of hiding, and Shepard’s suddenly struck with the need to make sure Garrus knows exactly what he means to her.

So she tells him, with her lips and hands and body, over and over again until she knows it's all he can think about.

* * *

Of course she’d bring him with her here at the end of all things. Even though what he had said back at the base had sounded like a goodbye, there was no way Shepard was going to finish this without Garrus at her side.

And they’re doing so well at first, even with _three goddamn banshees_ converging on the burnt-out husk of this convenience store. The ruins of London around her are sobering, as is the constant struggle to just heave a full breath of oxygen, but _they’re still alive_ and she thinks that, just maybe, they can do this.

But then they start to feel the pressure. Shepard’s keeping an eye on the missile bank, making sure no Reaper forces get anywhere near it, when a tell-tale alarm sounds. Her shields are all but gone.

She swings around wildly, trying to find whoever it is that’s shooting at her, but to no avail. It’s too dark, too chaotic. Shots ricochet off the aged stone and the shouts of soldiers fill her ears.

Something punches through her armour then, a sharp, burning pain spreading through her shoulder. She yells, once, instinctively ducking behind whatever-it-is she’s in front of, before she hears the loud _boom_ of a firing Widow.

Garrus dashes to her side, rifle still in hand. “You good?”

“I am now,” she says as the medi-gel kicks in. “Thanks for that. Where was it?”

Garrus jerks his head to the left. “Over there, behind some rubble. Dead now, though.”

“Good.” She slams another heat sink into her Predator and pokes her head around what appears to be the remnants of a wall, firing at the seemingly endless waves of Reaper forces. “Where’s Javik?”

“Right behind you,” Javik calls from a few feet behind them. “You need to get to the missile bank!”

“Working on it!” she yells, taking out a cannibal with a few well-placed shots, looking for an opening. “Come on, come on, come on–”

“Commander!” EDI says. “The destroyer is in range! The missiles are ready for launch.”

Shepard nods reflexively. “On it,” she responds.

It takes a few more heart-stopping moments (and a close encounter of the brute kind) but she makes it over there, slamming the button before diving back into cover. She can’t afford to watch the missiles find their way into the core of the destroyer, not when there are still enemies _everywhere_ and her shields seem to be gone more often than not.

But then the sky fills with fire and an earth-shattering _boom_. Shepard wastes no time staring at the spectacle, taking out another cannibal when EDI says, “Destroyer terminated.”

“Nice work, EDI,” she says. And then Anderson and his convoy slowly pick their way across the fields of rubble to their location, and after a hasty conference, they’re off and running to the Conduit.

Shepard sees a Mako launch towards her, ducking out of the way just in time. But when she looks back, she sees that Garrus and EDI are both crumpled on the ground, barely moving.

She rushes over to them, helping Garrus up to take cover behind the Mako. EDI’s smoking, her movements stilted, and Garrus is wincing with pain with every movement. They can’t stay here.

“Normandy! Do you copy?” she all but screams into her comm. “I need an evac! Right now!” Garrus looks at her askance, but she ignores him in favour of talking to Joker. He’d talk her into leaving him here with her otherwise, and – well, that’s a death sentence she can’t accept.

The Normandy appears just in time, and the three of them run to its loading bay just as the Mako explodes behind them. Shepard hears the growling of yet more Reaper forces behind them, but her crew provides some covering fire as EDI rushes into the loading bay.

Garrus, however, is having more trouble moving. Carefully guiding him onto the ramp, Shepard shouts, “Here! Take him!”

He’s not having it. “Shepard–”

But she won’t let him. She can’t – if he has any chance of living, he needs to go, _now_. “You gotta get out of here,” she says, cutting him off.

“And you’ve got to be kidding me,” he says, obstinate as always.

Any other time, she’d reconsider. But not now. “Don’t argue, Garrus.”

“We’re in this till the end,” Garrus insists. _Don’t go where I can’t follow_ , his subvocals say.

But there’s no arguing the point. Shepard’s doing this _for_ him. And he needs to know that, needs to know that – if there was _any other way_ –

She steps forward. “No matter what happens here, you know I love you.” Cupping his mandible, leaning in as close as she dares, she adds, “Always will.”

He leans into her touch, and she wishes she could feel his plates through her gloves, give him more than just this shoddy approximation of a tender caress, but there’s no time. “Shepard, I – love you too,” he says, every breath a new wound.

She knows she can’t linger any longer, but pulling away from Garrus is the hardest thing she’s ever done. And she won’t let herself look back at him, even if it’s – it’s the last time she’ll ever see him, because if she meets his eyes again she doesn’t know how she’ll will herself to let go a second time.

So she doesn’t see his lips move in silent prayer as he stares after her, arm still outstretched, begging any spirit who’s listening to keep her safe.

* * *

He got here as fast as he could. It still took a week for them to finish the _Normandy_ repairs and get off that bloody planet, but he’s here in London now and Shepard is alive. 

For whatever value of life she has right now. Garrus pauses in the doorway of her hospital room – the least damaged in all of London – even though every bone in his body wants to rush to her, to hold her and never let go. But she looks so fragile, like never before, asleep like some human fairy tale and not the living legend she is, and he’s terrified that he’s going to break her even more, somehow.

And it’s – it’s so hard, seeing her lying there on the hospital bed, swallowed by the sheets and looking so, so _small_. For as long as he had known her, Shepard had been larger than life, a force of nature sweet-talking everyone in her way and barrelling through them if they still refused to step aside.

But her injuries aren’t something she can just _persuade_ to fall in line. Miranda had given him the lowdown when she had walked him to Shepard’s room, and. Well. Garrus doesn’t doubt that she _can_ get through this, what with the sheer amount of cybernetics (old and new) forcing her to live.

That doesn’t mean that he’s still not _absolutely fucking terrified_ , though. She’s been in a coma since they found her, Miranda had said, and – she wouldn’t want to live like this forever, Garrus knows that. But he doesn’t want to – he _can’t_ – picture a life without her, years stretching on into infinity in a universe without Commander Shepard.

“I’m here,” he says, settling in the chair next to her bed and taking her hand. “I’m here, you’re safe, we won, I love you, please, _please_ wake up.”

And he doesn’t know that he’s echoing history, the universe’s cruel joke reverberating through the past year back to Omega and another medbay on the opposite side of the galaxy. All he knows is here, now, Shepard hurts and he’s powerless to stop it.

He doesn’t know how long he stays there, clutching her hand like it’s a lifeline and he’s the drowning man instead of the other way around. All he knows is that, when she wakes up, he’ll be here for her. Like he always is.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://zaeedmassanis.tumblr.com)!


End file.
